Prologue To The Fall Of A Continent Poem by Marton Dezso

Jaguars are licking up the blood
Of the sacrificed ones
The priests offered for their gods.
They keep coming in hordes each moon
And it becomes part of the ceremony soon.

In the next village - it's said -
They attacked people and killed some of them
Axes swing now in brown hands
But those trees fall back on men.

The joungle. It became strange at once.
Runners grow deep into the walls,
Monkeys jump around the sacred halls
And bite the playing little ones.